


the night we met

by lesbianryuko (ashisverymuchonfire)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, Holidays, Light Angst, M/M, VERY light i swear, anyway here it is. take it, this was supposed to be shorter but then i got carried away (story of my life)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 04:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16824706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisverymuchonfire/pseuds/lesbianryuko
Summary: As if reading his mind, the man who replaced Merrill wanders over to Fenris’s seat, washcloth in hand. As he starts to wipe down the next table over, he says, “So. What brings you here on this completely unremarkable evening?”Fenris snorts, not missing the lighthearted sarcasm in the man’s voice. “I have nowhere else to be, I suppose.”The man raises a curious eyebrow. “Surely there are better places to spend Christmas Eve.”Fenris shrugs dismissively. “Perhaps there are.”—Alone in a coffee shop on Christmas Eve, Fenris meets a man named Hawke.





	the night we met

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh hello!!! happy holidays and happy fenris appreciation month!!! this is for day 2: real world holidays. and it was supposed to be shorter but then it wasnt lmao. the title is from "the night we met" by lord huron bc i was listening to it while writing the end of this fic and the phrase just Spoke to me and i had an epiphany and here we are. enjoy!!!

_when you had not touched me yet_  
_oh, take me back to the night we met_

At around five o’clock p.m. on Christmas Eve, when most people would be spending time with family or preparing for the next day, Fenris is sitting alone in a little coffee shop downtown, sipping on hot tea and staring out the window.

It’s been snowing at a steady rate for the past hour or so, and the grass has almost completely disappeared. The snowflakes are the perfect size, not too big but not too small, and they fall gently due to the lack of wind, peppering the hair and clothes of passersby. When they land on a young woman’s shoulder or the top of a man’s head, it almost looks as though they’re choosing the spot of their own volition, with the way they flutter indecisively through the air. Sometimes, children stop to try to catch the flakes on their tongues. Sometimes they make snowballs to throw at their unsuspecting parents or siblings. The pedestrians all have one thing in common, though: they all have somewhere to be, and that’s more than Fenris can say.

It’s not like it’s a surprise. He has no family to speak of—his mother is dead, his sister is gone, and he never knew his father. He barely has a home, a drafty apartment infested with rats and spiders and shady tenants. He knew far in advance that he’d most likely be alone for the holidays, and it never bothered him much. Still, there’s something alienating about watching all those people who clearly have plans and family and friends, and Fenris...doesn’t. No one cares about a runaway elf.

The front door of the coffee shop opens, sending a gust of cold air his way. Fenris watches the person who just entered out of the corner of his eye: a human man who looks to be around the same age as him (somewhere in his mid-twenties), with a dark beard and a broad frame. The man takes off his gray beanie, revealing a head of messy brown hair. “Sorry I’m late, Merrill!” he calls out to the lone barista, an elven woman with black hair and tattoos on her face. He shrugs off his winter coat—underneath it he’s wearing a black polo shirt and a light brown apron, and that’s when Fenris realizes that this man works here.

The barista—Merrill—rushes out from behind the counter to greet him. She says something about feeling sorry that he has to work the last shift of the night on Christmas Eve, and that his family probably wants to see him, and that she can totally just work his shift for him if he really wants her to, but he dismisses her offer with a casual wave of his hand. “It’s no big deal. Really,” he assures her. Since there’s hardly anyone else in the shop, Fenris can hear everything without even really trying.

Finally, Merrill bids the man a farewell and a merry Christmas, puts on her own coat, and opens the front door to brave the snow and the cold. Fenris shivers involuntarily at the second blast of freezing air and lifts his drink to his lips. When he doesn’t feel the warmth of the tea on his tongue, he glances down at his cup and discovers the problem: it’s empty.

As if reading his mind, the man who replaced Merrill wanders over to Fenris’s seat, washcloth in hand. As he starts to wipe down the next table over, he says, “So. What brings you here on this completely unremarkable evening?”

Fenris snorts, not missing the lighthearted sarcasm in the man’s voice. “I have nowhere else to be, I suppose.”

The man raises a curious eyebrow. “Surely there are better places to spend Christmas Eve.”

Fenris shrugs dismissively. “Perhaps there are.”

The man stares at him for a short moment before apparently deciding not to pry any further. “Well,” he says instead, gesturing to Fenris’s empty cup, “if you’re going to be here for a while, do you want anything else?”

“Ah,” Fenris says, clearing his throat. “Yes. More chai tea, please.”

“Coming right up,” the man replies immediately, a tiny smile on his face.

A few minutes later, sure enough, he returns from the counter with another cup of tea. “You can just pay over there before you leave,” he says casually. He leans against the table across from Fenris and folds his arms across his chest. “What’s your name?”

Fenris blows softly on the piping hot tea before answering. “Fenris.”

The man hums quietly in response. “I’m Garrett,” he says, tapping his name tag. “Garrett Hawke. Most people just call me Hawke.”

Fenris nods and takes a few sips of his tea, looking Hawke up and down. He’s rather attractive, actually, with big hands and toned arms, with lively eyes and a charming face. As for his character...well, that is yet to be seen.

When Fenris doesn’t say anything else, Hawke adds, “Do you come here often? I’ve never seen you before. I’d remember you.”

Fenris narrows his eyes, ready for the inevitable comments. “What about me makes you so sure you would remember me?” he asks, his mouth curling up in a little half-smirk. He knows the answer already, but sometimes he takes pleasure in making people squirm as they try to politely tell him how _strange_ he looks.

Hawke, however, is not one to be daunted. Without missing a beat and with a smirk of his own, he says, “I always remember handsome customers.”

Fenris nearly spits out his drink. Coughing, he sputters out, “What?”

Hawke’s cheeks turn a slight pink, and he holds his hands up in an appeasing manner. “I am so sorry. I didn’t realize compliments came as such a surprise to you.”

Fenris coughs a few more times. He can feel the tips of his ears turning red. “You can’t just _say_ things like that.”

“Hmm,” Hawke says thoughtfully. “I’m afraid I never got that memo. I’ll write that down. ‘Fenris is not to be flirted with.’”

Fenris glances over at Hawke, at the unexpected sincerity in his well-meaning smile and the lines of his face. “Well,” he says slowly, “I never said _that._ ”

Hawke raises his eyebrows—a silent question. Fenris continues, “I was just...surprised. That’s all. I am more accustomed to being told how strange I look. As if I am not already aware.”

“You don’t look _that_ strange,” Hawke says. “To me, at least. But I’ve been told that my tastes are somewhat unconventional, so maybe I’m not the best judge.”

Fenris chuckles. “And here I was just about to ask why you’re even talking to me.”

“Well, number one, you’re the only other person in the shop,” Hawke points out.

Fenris surveys the area and notices for the first time that he is, in fact, the only person still in the coffee shop at the moment. “Oh,” he says, suddenly feeling like some sort of burden. “I can leave, if you want me to.”

“Oh, no,” Hawke replies immediately. “The shop doesn’t close for another four hours. I have to be here, customers or no customers. If I didn’t have someone to talk to, I’d probably die of boredom.”

Fenris can’t help it; he smiles a little at that.

“I mean,” Hawke says, “the second reason I’m talking to you _is_ because I find you attractive. I admit it.”

Fenris’s smile widens. Something about Hawke’s candor and confidence is magnetic. “You certainly don’t censor yourself.”

Hawke pauses for a moment. “Speaking of that,” he says slowly, “there is...a third reason.”

Fenris raises an eyebrow and takes another sip of tea. “A third?”

Hawke shrugs, and some of that confidence starts to wither away. “The third reason is because you...well, you looked...lonely.”

“Lonely?” Fenris repeats, the smile falling from his face. “So you took pity on me.”

“What? No!” Hawke says, suddenly flustered. “You just—I don’t know—you looked so sullen and gloomy, and it’s Christmas Eve, and I knew you probably didn’t have anyone waiting for you, so I thought maybe you’d want to talk to someone, even if it was just small talk, even if it was just, I don’t know, telling stupid jokes, or listening to my stupid jokes, or—”

Fenris holds up a tattooed hand to stop him from rambling further. “Hawke. Stop. I understand.” He glances out the window to avoid looking Hawke in the eye. “And...perhaps you are not entirely wrong.”

Hawke cocks his head slightly to the side. “About…?”

Fenris watches as the snow comes down heavier, illuminated by headlights and neon signs. “About me...not having anyone waiting for me,” he admits.

For a moment, there is silence as Hawke seems to mull everything over. Then he gasps and says, “I’ve got it!”

Fenris turns to look at him, wondering what sort of epiphany he could’ve had. “What?”

Hawke sets both his hands down on Fenris’s table. “If you want, you could come over to my place after my shift is done.”

Fenris opens his mouth and then closes it. He’s not quite sure what to say to that. It’s a kind offer, but his distrustful nature warns against accepting it.

“I understand if you don’t want to,” Hawke adds, picking up on Fenris’s suspicion. “It was just a suggestion.”

“It’s not necessarily that I don’t want to,” Fenris says, which is, surprisingly, the truth. “I just...think that I should get to know you a little better first.”

“Hmm. A valid point,” Hawke says, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. “Well, then, how about this: you stay here for as long as you’d like, we talk for a while, and you decide for yourself whether or not you’d like to come over.”

Fenris pauses for a moment, but it doesn’t take long for him to come to a decision. When his options are either to go back to his shitty apartment, to wander aimlessly in the cold and snow, or to spend time in a quaint little coffee shop with an attractive man showing interest in him...well, his choice is rather obvious.

“That...sounds good,” he says finally.

Hawke’s eyes widen a little in excitement, as if he wasn’t actually expecting Fenris to agree. “Great!” he exclaims, clapping his hands together.

Hawke seems to immediately sense that Fenris isn’t fully comfortable talking about himself, so he takes the liberty of filling the empty air with stories of the Hawke family—which Fenris is secretly grateful for. Hawke talks about his father who died a few years ago, his younger siblings and their bickering, and his uncle’s gambling problem, all while cleaning the rest of the tables and chairs. It’s not until he starts sweeping the floor that he actually starts to talk about himself, and even ask Fenris questions.

It starts out simple—things like “How old are you?” and “What’s your favorite color?” (Hawke is twenty-six, and his favorite color is red. Fenris tells him in return that he’s twenty-three and that his favorite color is green, and Hawke comments, “Like your eyes.” Fenris tries not to think anything of it.)

Then Hawke starts talking about his friends and his hobbies, and Fenris realizes that his life would probably sound depressing and uneventful in comparison. When he’s not working a low-paying job, he mostly just drinks, reads, or listens to music, and usually he’s content with this routine. If he ever longs for company, he pushes it away, drowns it in distrust (and sometimes wine). Almost everything Hawke says is uncharted territory.

“Is something wrong?” Hawke asks when he notices the way Fenris goes silent at the mention of friends, of fun, of a life outside of running and fighting. He’s stopped sweeping at this point and is sitting in a chair backwards, with his head resting in his arms and his arms resting on the back of the chair.

Fenris looks away and watches the snow that’s still coming down. “This is just...new to me.”

“What’s new to you?”

Fenris doesn’t quite know how to answer that, so he just says, “Everything.”

“Mmm,” Hawke says. “Well, I’m glad to be the one to introduce you to...everything.”

Fenris decides right then that he likes Garrett Hawke.

The rest of the evening is spent in a similar fashion. Hawke gives Fenris the “grand tour” of the shop, which really means letting him behind the counter and explaining every contraption and ingredient there is. (“We’re almost out of the peppermint syrup,” he says, “but that’s okay because after tomorrow nobody will want any.”) At one point, Hawke suggests playing “I Spy” to help pass the time, but that promptly ends in laughter when his first clue is “I spy a handsome elf.”

Fenris is pleasantly surprised at how easily they can talk about anything and everything—their favorite TV shows, their jobs, stories from high school, how they like their coffee—and yet Hawke never specifically asks Fenris about his family or why he’s alone on Christmas Eve. It’s as if he’s waiting until Fenris is ready to talk about it himself.

Nine o’clock approaches quicker than Fenris expected. He pays Hawke for the tea at the counter, and Hawke whistles “Deck the Halls” while he finishes closing up and clocks out. “So,” he says as he puts his coat on and pulls his beanie over his head, “have you thought about my offer?”

Fenris gives him a little half-smile. “I have.”

Hawke cocks an eyebrow knowingly. “And?”

Fenris’s smile widens. “And I have decided that there are worse places to spend Christmas Eve than in your apartment.”

Hawke’s face breaks into a grin. “Excellent choice,” he says, opening the front door of the now-darkened coffee shop. “Now let’s get to my car before we freeze our asses off.”

They run out into the parking lot, Hawke pulling his keys out of his pocket and unlocking the car along the way. By the time they reach it and hop inside, they’re both laughing—something Fenris hasn’t truly done in a long, long time.

Hawke turns the car on and cranks up the heat, holding his hands up in front of the air vent. “You know,” he says breathlessly, “I’m glad I got scheduled to work this evening.”

Fenris tries not to smile, but he fails, so he looks away in order to hide it. “So am I.”

As they drive through the city to Hawke’s apartment building, the glow of lights made softer by the snow, the streets decorated in green and red, Fenris finds himself feeling more relaxed than he has in months—maybe even years. His chest feels lighter, like some sort of burden has been lifted off of him that he never even realized he was carrying. Tonight he isn’t greeted by the dull, familiar ache of loneliness, which he spends most of his time trying to outrun. No—tonight there is nothing to outrun.

“Fenris?” Hawke says, sounding unsure for possibly the first time this evening. “Are you alright?”

Fenris rests his hand on Hawke’s shoulder, a gesture that marks the first time they’ve touched. “Absolutely,” he says, and this time, when he smiles, he doesn’t try to hide it.


End file.
